


this is home

by takethebreadsticksandRUN



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: M/M, Pre-Season 1, Slight Emotional Hurt/Comfort, archive hijinks people, au where jon has feelings in season 1, but probably spanning a very long time, canon compliant other than that, elias is still a prick but doesn't actually do anything, found family bc i say so, hot!Jon appreciation, i just needed a little bit of, is not happening, jon needs to get his act together, maybe some eventual hot!Martin appreciation, oh not!Sasha never happened, okay i'm tired so i wrote this last night, sasha has three brain cells all of them babysitting her children (or coworkers), so pretty canon i guess?, tim has like zero brain cells in this, we've got some pining folks, will never happen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-29
Updated: 2020-06-20
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:01:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24431014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/takethebreadsticksandRUN/pseuds/takethebreadsticksandRUN
Summary: “Not bad to look at, is he?”Martin swallowed and said through numb lips, “No, he isn’t.”Sasha laughed at the pair of them. She muttered something about thirsty gays, continuing to produce forks from her halo of hair.orMartin has never had a true home before with people he enjoyed being around and people that cared about him. This all changed when he joined the Magnus Institute and realized he could make a home in the paranormal weirdness with his coworkers (especially Tim and Sasha)
Relationships: Background Sasha James/Tim Stoker - Relationship, Martin Blackwood & Everyone, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 70
Kudos: 144





	1. forks

**Author's Note:**

> aloha amigos! is this the start of another series? maybe? do i want to write fix-it fics until season five has ended *happily*? yes of course. is this my way of solving problems? by avoiding them? don't judge me. i haven't finished my other chapter thingy but i'm sticking it to the man and doing whatever i want.  
> i have no idea what i'm doing and you can't stop me  
> xxx

The building itself should have been a warning. Who builds a marble office in central London? On three acres of land too…An even better question was how can a ghost research/spook house afford it? Honestly, three acres.

Left with no other options, Martin found himself riding the lift down to his new office at the Magnus Institute. From the creaking of the machinery and wobbling floors, he expected the doors to slide open and reveal a dusty basement full of creepy dolls and stuff.

When the lift finally stopped it’s agonizing descent and let him out, however, he was shocked at what he saw.

Okay, maybe it was a little dusty. And definitely a basement. There were a lot of creepy dolls in Artifact Storage. But those non-defining factors aside, the Archives looked like a pleasant place to work. The hallways were open and brightly lit (although few in number) and he could hear the comforting chatter of people. 

Martin followed the sound of conversation to an open door to what, he assumed, was the break room/office kitchen. Hesitant, he stepped inside the door slightly, watching the scene before him. 

A tall, delicate, African American woman was laughing, a hearty thing echoing from her jangling wrists to the swishing skirt. Next to her stood an unfairly attractive man, also chuckling, as he attempted to poke a handful of forks into her fluffy hair. “Tim, I think _twenty-three forks_ is enough,” she said, “I think the utensils are supposed to be used for eating.”

“Ah, but the entertainment value is much higher than the purpose of a fork.” The man, _Tim_ , flashed her a smile, all pearly white teeth in his tanned face. “Sasha, you sound like Jon!” he accused.

“I do not!” Sasha batted away his hand, sending a few forks clattering to the floor. Tim stooped to pick them up. From what Martin could see of his forearms, he was built solidly. As he straightened up, he caught a glimpse of Martin in the doorway.

“Hello stranger!” he said brightly, causing him to flush with embarrassment.

“Ah, sorry, I’m Martin Blackwood, the new employee here…?” He trailed off, turning what should have been a statement into an uncomfortable question. It was one thing to eavesdrop, it was another thing completely to go unnoticed and _feel_ like you were eavesdropping.

“Oh, Elias told me he hired a new assistant! Nice to meet you, Martin. I’m Sasha James.” She shook his hand. Her grip was firm and solid.

“My pleasure. If you don’t mind my asking, how many people work down here?” He was hoping for a low number. The less people to potentially discover his lie about the parapsychology degree, the better.

“Just you, me, Tim, Elias sort of, Jon, and Rosie, the secretary.”

“I’m Tim Stoker, but you can call me Joe Cool.” Martin was unable to tell if he was joking or not, so he settled for shaking hands.

“Just ignore him. He doesn’t know what he’s saying,” Sasha stage-whispered. Tim looked comically affronted.

“How dare you? I have a very important job, _Ms. James_. One that requires a large amount of skill and a dashing, debonair smile.” He grinned again.

“I’m fairly certain you were just hiding forks in Sasha’s hair, Tim.” A dry voice came from the hallway. Hastily, Martin stepped inside to make room for the newcomer.

“Yes. And your point is?” Sasha grinned at him, reaching up to remove the offending utensils.

“Hey, Jon, this is Martin. The new assistant?” She gestured to Martin, who was feeling intensely uncomfortable at the thought of meeting the boss. _Well, can’t be avoided_ , he thought. Jon stepped fully into the room.

“Mr. Blackwood, nice to meet you. I trust,” he said pointedly, “You will be able to do your work competently and efficiently. Unfortunately the previous Archivist left this place in quite a mess.”

The venom of this statement was lost on Martin, who was transfixed by the man who now stood before him.

Jon was small and wiry. He suspected (fantasized?) the thin limbs held more power than he let on. Not an extraordinary beauty like Tim, his face still had a captivating attractiveness. The curve of his nose, his green eyes against dark skin, the wispy hairs escaping his low ponytail all held Martin’s attention. He was delicate and graceful, carried himself with an easy rigidity.

It was a mercy Jon had left after his statement, so as to spare Martin the shame of being caught staring.

He couldn’t help it. The man was beautiful, captivating, and _just so small._

The clatter of forks against the countertop brought him back to earth. Tim saw the flush creeping up his neck and smirked.

“Not bad to look at, is he?”

Martin swallowed and said through numb lips, “No, he isn’t.”

Sasha laughed at the pair of them. She muttered something about thirsty gays, continuing to produce forks from her halo of hair.

“How are you doing this??” Martin asked her, shocked as more eating utensils appeared. “That should not be possible.”

“Black girl magic, baby.” Sasha was very smiley, he noted.

Tim rolled his eyes. “I don’t think that’s what it means, Sash.”

“Oh really? You wanna go, my friend?”

As they continued to bicker, Martin grinned to himself. This was going to be fun.


	2. lovefool

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jonathan Sims does not like change. Not normally, at least.
> 
> OR
> 
> I have decided to also write Jon as a lovestruck absolute goshdang FOOL as well bc you can't stop me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes i have finally updated this. i have no schedule. time has no meaning anymore. but do i care? yes kind of. will i change? absolutely not. anyways inspiration came from a lovely post i saw, here is the brief version:  
> me in my head, @ the person i like: i am enamored even with the way your fingers move, the way the light plays on your skin, with your freckles and your laughter and your voice, how you act around the things you love, with your humor,  
> me aloud: what's up asshole  
> that's basically jon. anyways hope you like it!  
> xxx

Jon did not favor change. Even if it was supposed to be for the greater good, it was still change.

Elias had hired a new assistant, yet another form of change that made Jon uncomfortable. His many protests fell on deaf ears, however.

“Tim and Sasha get the work done quite well, I really don’t see the p-“ A tremendous clattering drowned out his words, echoing from the hall outside his office. Elias opened the door, poking his head outside. He withdrew quickly as Sasha rolled haphazardly down the corridor, riding a swiveling chair pushed by Tim. A box of papers balanced precariously in her lap, she laughed as they barreled towards Artifact Storage.

“Watch the door,” she said.

“Yes ma’am!” Tim swerved quickly to avoid running into Elias. “Good morning, boss! Good to see you, other boss!” Without slowing they shot through the open doors at the end of the hall. Jon could hear the sound of something thudding onto the ground, the high pitched giggles from Sasha.

“They seem very competent.” Jon could hear the eye roll within the statement.

“They just need a little bit of training,” he rushed to defend his assistants.

“No discussion, Jon, the new assistant starts on Monday. Don’t scare him away.” With that, Elias turned and walked away, presumably off to bully Rosie.

Jon sighed and dragged a hand down his face. Even he had to admit his assistants were not exactly what he had mind, they made do.

Now there would be a new face in the Archives. A new employee meant new routines, a change in the delicate balance of the Institute.

When Monday came, Jon was not in the best mood. A sleepless night spent on the couch coupled with the impending sense of apprehension kept him from actually focusing on his work.

He arrived at the Institute much earlier than his fellow workers, normally quite eager to begin a new day of untangling the mess Gertrude had left him. It beat confronting the empty side of his bed, better than listening to the angry silence of his flat.

“Good morning, Jon.” Sasha knocked on his door frame, startling him out of his thoughts. “The new guy, Martin, starts today.”

“Yes.”

Unphased by his frigidity, she pressed on. “Let’s do our best to make him feel welcome here, okay?”

“Why wouldn’t we?”

“Well,” she said delicately, “You can be a bit, ah, _hostile_ , at times.”

“I am not,” he bristled. Sasha raised an eyebrow at him, as if to say, _see?_ “Fine, I will do my best.”

“Thanks, Jon.” She smiled and left the room.

Martin Blackwood arrived at the Archives twenty minutes later, forever shifting the dynamic of the place. He could hear laughter and conversation echoing from the break room. With a sigh, he stood up. _Time to go be welcoming._

The room seemed lighter, somehow. The door was ajar, letting him see inside. Tim took a step back from Sasha, who was leaning against the small fridge, several forks clutched in his hands. He spoke to a man Jon couldn’t see, but assumed was Martin. “I’m Tim Stoker, but you can call me Joe Cool.”

“Just ignore him,” Sasha said, shaking her head, “He doesn’t know what he’s saying.”

“How dare you! I have a very important job, _Ms. James_. One that requires a large amount of skill and a dashing, debonair smile.” Tim flashed said smile.

“I’m fairly certain you were just hiding forks in Sasha’s hair,” Jon said drily, stepping into the room.

“Yes, and your point is?” Tim said. Sasha withdrew a plastic fork from her hair and flicked it at him.

“Hey Jon, this is Martin, the new assistant.” Her eyes pleaded with him, _be kind or so help me I will do something you will not like_.

Jon stepped fully into the room. Martin stood from the small table in the corner, where he had been watching Tim and Sasha fling forks at each other.

He was a tall man, easily dwarfing Jon with a few inches on Tim. He nervously ran a hand through his curly red hair, shoulders hunched as if he was trying to shrink. _It won’t work,_ a voice said, unbidden. _You are much too big to hide._

If he had spoken this aloud, it would have been very rude. But in his mind, all Jon could think was of how this man could easily crush him. The thought wasn’t as unpleasant as he expected it to be.

He stared for a moment, transfixed by the way the unflattering fluorescent light couldn’t make Martin seem harsh, the freckles on his face shifting slightly when he smiled crookedly, the right side of his mouth lifting higher than the other.

Jon blinked, slightly dazed. _Who was this man, and what was this distraction?_ He cleared his throat to cover up his awkwardness. “Mr. Blackwood, nice to meet you. I trust you will do your work competently and efficiently. Unfortunately, the previous Archivist left this place in quite a mess.” Without waiting for a reply, he turned sharply and left the room.

Once he was in the hall, safe from any prying eyes, Jon winced. _‘Competently and efficiently’, really? Elias, just fire me now._ For some reason he felt extremely hot, his skin burning uncomfortably.

This new assistant was definitely change, but for once in his life, Jon wasn’t sure this would be so bad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> marie kondo said if it doesn't spark joy then throw it out, and that's my philosophy on canon, kids.


	3. take off your porcelain face- is there flesh underneath?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Martin has a bad day. Jon makes tea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> idk if y'all can tell but this chapter is NOT BETA READ WE DIE LIKE ARCHIVAL ASSISTANTS BB  
> i meant to make this whole fic fluff and fun but then angsty, monster of a chapter happened. don't worry, i'll never abandon my boys in their time of need. even if i create their trials and tribulations, i love them still. please let me know what you think! bone apple teeth <3<3  
> xxx

Martin’s life soon fell into a steady habit, the worry over his CV easing with time. Wake up in his minute flat (alone, as his brain liked to remind him), get ready for work, catch the tube to the Institute, return to his abysmally empty home, sleep, then wake up and do it again.

And again.

And again.

On a dismal morning, the routine no longer felt freeing. The flat was freezing when he woke, cold floors uninviting. Martin shuffled about, making a quick breakfast and tea in a zombified daze. The small rituals he had, normally grounding, choked him in a terrifying sameness.

The commute was uneventful. Of course it was. He took the second seat to the right of the moving doors, as he always did, and pulled out his notebook, as he always did. Martin tapped his pencil against the empty page, blank lines rising out of it and shackling his brain. _I can’t think._

They reached his stop in a manner that made Martin question the power of time on the London Underground. The trip had passed too quickly, yet time had felt as if it were trickling by in an hourglass.

For once in his life, the walk from his station to the doors of the Institute was not a pleasant one. The flowers did not catch his eye as they normally did, the pigeons looking affronted when he paid them no mind. “Good morning, Rosie,” he sighed, trying to shake off the fog in his brain.

The secretary was on the phone and did not hear him. 

_Typical._

Martin sighed again, entering the lift. He would have been unsurprised to see his breath fog the air. Something inside him felt off, a gear in the works out of place, a jammed line of communication from his brain to his heart.

_Get out, get out of my mind and let me think, please-_

The doors opened. Martin felt himself slipping, sliding back into the refuge of a mask. Tim rounded the corner as he stepped out. Hastily Martin smiled (is this how a person who is not sad smiles? he winced, for he did not know)

“Hey, Tim,” he said, by way of greeting.

“Morning, Martin. Ready for a great day of reading statements and putting spiders in Jon’s tea?” He smiled devilishly, falling into step with him.

“Um, no? Statements sound good, but no spiders?” Tentatively phrased, it came out as a question.

Tim sighed in disappointment. “Well, I knew you probably wouldn’t want to, but I can always count on Sasha!”

“Count on me for what?” she asked, poking her head out of the room where she had been rummaging through cabinets.

“Oh, nothing, just pranking poor Martin’s crush with his worst fear,” he said nonchalantly.

Normally this kind of teasing he would be able to brush off with a laugh and a smile, but not today. The words thudded against his hollow body, pinging then dropping to the ground, leaving tiny dents.

Martin made a noncommittal noise and a half-baked excuse. “I, uh, need to go and-“ He gestured vaguely, ducking into an empty office to take a deep breath. _It’s fine, I’m fine- just get the work done and you can go home. As if home would be any better…_

He shook his head vigorously as if he had water in his ears. Several moments and deep breaths later, he stepped out with a plastic smile. _Competent. I am a competent employee who has a stable life,_ he told himself over and over.

The seat at his desk held him in place with a magnetic pull. Life buzzed on around him, but Martin kept his head down, trying to focus on his work. _Why am I so unfocused?_ He was halfway through a report on the Carlos Vittery statement when his phone rang, making him jump.

He slid it out of his pocket, swiping it open. The caller ID read _Mum._ “Good morning,” he said, going for a neutral cheerful.

“It’s half-past three, Martin.” The clipped voice rang through his speaker, his stomach sank with every word she spoke.

“Oh, sorry, I’ve been… rather… busy…” he said weakly.

“Hm,” his mother said disapprovingly. “I’ve always said that place is no good, a worthless place to run yourself into the ground.”

Martin glanced around the office, checking for his coworkers before lowering his voice. “It’s that or work the night shift again, and Shady Oaks isn’t cheap,” he said. His mother had insisted she be put into a care home. Feeling guilty about it, Martin took it upon himself to pay for it.

“Don’t you take that tone with me,” she snapped.

He tried to sigh quietly, running a hand through his curls. “What’s up?”

“I need you to send me the box of my old quilts, I left them in that horrid place you live in.” He resisted the urge to bang his head on the desk. He settled for slumping in his seat, staring at the ceiling.

“I will send it along in the mail, mum, don’t worry,” Martin tried to soothe her.

She did not, however, want to be pacified. “Don’t forget to take the mothballs out, this time, last time you…” She went off on a long-winded rant about his many faults, Martin doing his best to tune her out.

“Send it tonight,” she said commandingly, “Goodbye, Martin.”

“Bye, Mum, love-“

The phone beeped gently in his ear, reminding him of yet another person who didn’t want his affection.

Groaning slightly, he put his head in his hands. The cold wood of the desk burned his forearms, splinters from a lifetime of bumps and crashes digging into his flesh. Slowly, Martin breathed in, then out. In, out. _In, out. In, calm down, out, no tears. In, she loves you, out, don’t cry. In, out. In, out…_

“Martin,” a harsh voice said from the door, “I need to speak with you about your performance on the-“

“Jon, I really can’t do that right now,” he said, cutting across his boss with a desperation that surprised him. _I can’t talk to him, not like this._ “I will be available tomorrow to discuss any issues you found with my work.”

He blinked at Martin in surprise. “What-“

“I’m sorry, but I can’t right now.” He turned back to his desk and picked up a pen, scratching out some notes angrily.

Jon left, looking shellshocked.

_What in the bloody- Did I just snap at him? I’m supposed to be the nice one, the soft one, the person people can turn to for a cup of tea and a hug._

“Martin-“

“Jon, don’t,” he said tiredly, not yet ready to let down his guard.

“Hey, hey, it’s me, Tim.” Martin didn’t look up but felt a hand settle on his shoulder.

“Oh, sorry…” He slumped forward and leaned his head on the desk.

“Did Jon do something?” he asked gently. “Because you know I can and will kick his skinny butt if he did.”

“No, no,” Martin waved him off, “It’s nothing.”

“Are you sure?”

He could feel himself beginning to waver under Tim’s soft pressure. “I- yeah. I’m fine.”

Tim sighed and left the room quietly, Martin didn’t notice he was alone again.

 _This was my chance to prove…_ To prove what? _To prove to Mum I can take care of myself. To show Jon I **am** competent at my job, to maybe get him to notice me? Stupid, useless…_

“Martin.” Tim reentered the room with Sasha on his heels. “Martin, what’s up?”

“Did you go get Sasha?” he asked Tim accusingly, avoiding the question.

“Yes, he did,” she answered. “He said Jon said something or other, that you were upset?”

“Seriously guys, don’t worry about me.” Martin tried for a cheery smile.

Sasha pulled a chair up next to his desk, plopping her head in her hands. “How do you do it?” she asked, looking at him with her warm brown eyes.

“Do what?”

“Pretend you are okay.” Tim hovered in the background, looking as if he wanted to say something but didn’t quite know how.

“I’m not pretending,” he spluttered.

“Yes,” she said softly, “Yes, you are. All the time. And it breaks my heart.”

Martin felt his eyes go misty with a thousand repressed rainstorms. “You have no idea what you’re talking about,” he said in a low murmur, careful to keep his voice steady.

“Then tell us, Marto, we’re here for you.” Tim was at his elbow, looking like a concerned uncle.

Martin laughed slightly. “I barely know you guys. It’s been what, a month since I started working here? I don’t want to dump my whole life story on you.”

“Goodness, has it only been three months?” Sasha said in surprise. “I feel like I’ve known you forever. A good forever,” she hastened to add. “Like when you meet a person and it’s like, _where have you been my whole life_?”

“If you don’t want to talk, that’s okay,” Tim said. “But we’re here for you. And for whatever you’re going through. And for your ridiculous crush on-“ Sasha glared at him and mouthed _not helping_. “I mean, your totally understandable crush on our boss.” _Better?_ he shot at Sasha nonverbally. She nodded infinitesimally.

Martin leaned his head back, willing the tears to stay at bay. “It’s my mum,” he said finally without meeting their eyes. “She called me today. First time in almost a year. She said some things-“ He shook his head, unable to go on.

Without even waiting for an explanation Sasha wrapped her arms around him, awkward with the arms of their chairs in the way. She slid out of her seat to the ground and patted the space beside her. “It’s more comfortable down here.”

Without a complaint or argument, Martin obeyed, Tim following suit. She hugged Martin again, saying softly, “Do you want to talk about it?”

He hesitated. “Kind of? Not really. We’ve never been on the best of terms, I mean I _know_ she loves me, she has to,” he said more to himself than to the others, “But I guess she isn’t great at showing it. I just haven’t been feeling… _right_ lately, then she called and it all fell to pieces.” Martin closed his eyes, resting his head on Sasha’s shoulder. A few tears dripped down his cheek rebelliously. “Sorry, sorry,” he murmured.

“Don’t apologize,” Tim said sharply. “That is a perfectly reasonable way to feel. And even if it wasn’t, it’s not your fault. Just let it out, we’re here.”

And so they sat there, Martin alternating between talking in a hushed, cracking voice and letting himself be seen by the others for who he truly was. Not a perfect person with a porcelain face, uncracked and painted, but a human with messy complicated emotions.

There was a knock on the door, sounding hollow as it stood ajar. “Er-“ Jon began, breaking off as he took in the strange sight of his three assistants sitting on the floor, one of whom seemed to be crying. Sasha and Tim both looked up at him, Tim glaring more than necessary.

“Might I ask,” he said carefully, avoiding his eyes, “What’s going on here?”

Sasha put a protective arm around Martin, who was hastily wiping his eyes, looking embarrassed. “No, you may not,” she decided.

Martin would gladly have been kidnapped at that exact moment by the monster rumored to live in the tunnels under the Institute. Sadly, no such thing happened and he was forced to exist in that moment. Jon looking confused (if looks could kill he would have been dead and Tim charged with unnecessarily violent murder) and he, Martin K. Blackwood, a competent employee, having a breakdown on the office floor. _So much for respect_ , he thought, bracing himself for the inevitable lecture.

_He looks good, even when he’s baffled_ , a traitorous part of him noted.

Jon opened his mouth to speak again, then apparently thought better of it. A beat of awkward silence _oh sweet mercy Tim was holding his hand_ before-

“I’ll go make you a cup of tea if that’s alright?” Martin barely hid his surprise. His tone was uncharacteristically gentle, almost, concerned? If that was even possible? Martin could not restrain his heart from soaring into the sky.

While her friend was having a gay disaster, Sasha answered for him, “Yes, thank you, that would be lovely.” Jon left the room, looking no less confused but with a purpose.

He returned a few minutes later, a mug of tea in his hands. Wordlessly he handed it to Martin, who sipped it gratefully (and without making a grimace) Looking awkward, Jon took a seat on the desk, tucking his feet up beside him. “Is everything okay?” he asked.

Martin choked on his tea. Coughing slightly, he answered, “Yeah, just had a bit of a rough day.” Tim raised his eyebrows.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Jon said sincerely. Sasha raised her eyebrows so high, they almost vanished into her cloud of hair.

“It’s okay, I’m feeling better now,” Martin smiled. “Thanks, guys.”

Sasha met Tim’s eyes, communicating wordlessly for a second, then spoke. “Martin, as happy as I am to hear that, I get the feeling that if we leave you now to go back to work, you will return to your depressive bubble.”

Sounding as though he had a head cold, he agreed. “Yeah, maybe.” Sheepishly he looked down at his hands.

“Well, you know what that means!” Tim rubbed his hands together with the air of a madman deciding which experiment to blow up this time.

Jon looked worried. “What?” he asked cautiously.

“It means,” he said slowly, “Instead of abandoning Marto here, we all work on a statement together, on the floor of the office!”

Martin smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i think i'm going to switch POV each chapter, telling the story from both pining gay disasters. does that sound good or should i try something else?

**Author's Note:**

> this is not going to be canon compliant because there is NO WAY I'M WAITING UNTIL SEASON 5 TO GET MY BOYS TOGETHER NOPE NO SIR WE SUFFER TOGETHER IN ALL THINGS EXCEPT THIS ONE. not sure if i'm going to write tim/sasha romantically. should i?  
> also the part where sasha has like forks in her hair is just hilarious to me because i've done that with my friend (we managed to stick an entire box of colored pencils into his afro and it's like two inches long) so the idea of her having a beautiful amount of perfect fluffy hair and tim going ah yes a place for forks is making me happy


End file.
